loss

It Should Come From Me

Posted on August 2, 2014 Written by Tonya

She slowly makes her way down my leg.

Groping and grasping.

I’m glad I shaved my legs or this would be a painful journey.

Her tiny hands were working hard.

She thrusts her small body inch by inch.

On a mission after my pink toenails it would seem.

She finds them and plays with them a little and then her chubby fingers discover the two small black stars on top of my right foot.

She looks back up at me as if to ask for help. “They don’t come off,” I say knowing she won’t understand.

She traces the stars one by one. Her touch is tender and the sweetness of the act makes tear up.

Someday I’d have to tell her the significance of the stars, who they are for, the story behind the tattoos. My stomach turns to ice.

Maybe I’ll be able to avoid it and her brother will tell her before I have the chance. I think about how that conversation might go: So, you know how we never see mom’s parents? They died. She doesn’t like to talk about it.

It should come from me I decide.

And it will.

My Mama

Posted on May 10, 2014 Written by Tonya

As I open the box, I recognize the musty scent immediately. It is full of old family photographs, some with faint pen markings on the back.

Dates and locations:

Birthday ’75

Easter 1977 – Park Mall, Tucson

Summer ’94

Many are left blank so it’s a guessing game for me.

I’m on a mission although I don’t quite know what it is yet.

Like my memories, the images have started to yellow over time.

Stack after stack, I begin to make piles.

Photos of my mother.

Photos of me and my mother.

There are not many of either.

I keep telling myself that it was a different time, the early 1970’s. Cameras were expensive. Having photos developed was expensive. There was no selfie, let alone smart phones with cameras built in.

Still it makes me sad. I wish there were more photographs of me with my mother, especially as a baby. I also wish I hadn’t been such a ~~shit~~ teenager whenever dad pulled out the camera.

This Mother’s Day will be my seventh without my mom and fifth as a mother myself. The holidays and milestones are always the hardest. It’s bittersweet leading up to the actual day as thoughts of my mother and our relationship consume me.

I miss her.

I encourage you to spend the day with the mothers in your life and make mental and physical memories. Someday your children will want to reminisce and look at old pictures of you and them together.

Happy Mother’s Day to all moms, grandmas, great grandmas, step moms, foster moms, mothers to be, those longing to be mothers and those who have lost their moms.

But especially my mom.

With Love

Posted on October 8, 2013 Written by Tonya

It’s that time of year again… Halloween has completely invaded stores and in some cases, (Michael’s and Kohl’s) you’ll even see Christmas decorations displayed. It starts earlier every year, as they say.

Children wane back and forth about costumes, family reaches out to discuss Thanksgiving plans and preliminary gift lists begin.

The last three months of the year are typically a blur to most of us. We scratch our heads in bewilderment wondering where the year went, lament over all the holiday activities, try to stay healthy and enjoy the magic of the season and precious time with our families and friends.

This time of year sucks for me.

I’m overjoyed about finally being pregnant and loving every minute of daydreaming about baby girl’s arrival, we may have found a house and just this morning, I ordered Lucas’ Halloween costume, but October 15 is looming. It’s a date on the calendar I dread the most. This October 15 marks the sixth anniversary of my parents deaths.

Six years.

Six years of milestones missed.

Six years of missing.

It still boggles my mind and the grief continues.

It’s just not right that they aren’t here.

This year I will be spending the day with one of my dearest friends getting pampered, followed by a mellow evening with my husband and son. We will launch a sky lantern and remember, as always with love.

The Strongest 23 Year Old I Know

Posted on August 13, 2013 Written by Tonya

I was 35 and it felt as though my entire world had been turned completely upside down.

Never in a million years did I expect to lose my parents before they retired, moved back to the states, or met my children and yet, I did. Both of them at the same time. What are the odds? Trust me, I have Googled it many times and can’t find statistics.

Those first few months the grief was all consuming and I felt I would literally die of a broken heart. I could not imagine moving on, but each day came and went and I made my way through the motions and I adjusted. I moved on. Mercifully, I had a new husband so the nights weren’t as scary, many supportive friends and co-workers.

I also had my sister, Leah. The only other person in the entire universe that knew exactly what I was going through.

Exactly.

While we grieve differently, Leah is much more in tune with her feelings and emotions and able to cry openly and share readily, she is always willing to talk about our parents, where as I, on the other hand, prefer to remain stoic, break down privately and only share if asked. Leah and I are also almost 12 years apart in age, but I was her support then and now.

Every now and then I shake my head in complete awe of my sister. Leah was 23 when our parents died.

23.

I will never know how difficult that was for her at that age. She was just starting her life having graduated from college only five months earlier and that is a pivotal time for anyone and certainly an important period in a young woman’s life to have her parents guidance. Not to mention, Leah and our mother were best friends, their bond was like nothing I have ever experienced.

In the past six years, Leah has flourished and grown and healed in so many ways and I should tell her more often how proud I am of her and how proud our parents would be of her too. I love you, Leah and your strength is what helps get me through.

Keep, Donate, Sell, Or Trash

Posted on June 6, 2013 Written by Tonya

It’s hard to clear the life out of a house.

It goes into Hefty bags and worn out boxes.

Possessions and treasured keepsakes alike become things, just stuff. Or, so you tell yourself.

You will detach and then instantly reattach, second guessing what to do with each and every article.

Personal documents are shredded.

Each piece of clothing is removed from its hanger and you will bury your face in collars and breathe in, just in case a scent still lingers.

Taking a bitter sweet trip down memory lane, photos are studied and divided.

Books containing underlined sentences are set aside with an overwhelming desire to go back read later.

Some things are donated to Salvation Army or Goodwill in hopes that they will find a new home, others are gifted to family and friends with love.

Many items are carefully wrapped in tissue paper and bubble wrap, saved for reasons yet unknown.

Countless trips and decisions will be made.

A storage unit will quickly be filled.

An estate sale will be held.

This house will no longer feel like a home.

Improvements will begin, slowly at first and then with shear determination… new tile, carpet, paint, appliances.

Before you know it, five years will go by.

There will be major set backs, a lot of tears and frustration.

There will also be acceptance and peace.

A realtor will eventually be contacted and a “For Sale” sign posted.

An offer will be accepted.

After piles of paperwork, several e-mails and much negotiation, escrow will close.

If you think it’s hard to clear the life out of a house, try two lives.

This house was once a home. December 1990 – June 2012.

Things I Wish We Could Talk About

Posted on April 20, 2013 Written by Tonya

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of something I wish I could talk to my parents about. I regret not truly thanking them for my life. Literally. And all the opportunities they gave me. I wish I had expressed my gratitude for being good parents, staying together, teaching me right from wrong, showing me the world, bailing me out a time or two and for my sister. I can only hope they knew how much I loved and respected them.

But it’s the everyday stuff that I wish we could talk about.

I long to share the daily funny things Lucas says and does, seek counsel on the big decisions my husband and I face, relive the warm and wonderful childhood I enjoyed and learn more about the people they were.

The list is endless, but first and foremost, I wish I knew more about my mother’s fertility. I’d like to ask her if she and my father really decided to wait almost 12 years before having my sister or if she had struggles conceiving too. I remember her saying her mother had miscarried but I don’t know the details and I should.

So many times, Lucas will do something that reminds me of myself at his age and I’ll wish I could confirm the memory with my mother. I have a whole set of memories that don’t include my sister because for so long it was just the three of us, Mom, Dad and me. A lot of those memories are fading now.

I wonder how my father would react to having a President in the White House that I simply adore. He was a staunch republican and we would have heated discussions about gun control, a woman’s right to choose and same sex marriage all the time. He was “old school” and would be the first to admit that he just didn’t “get it”. I think my dad would have respected Obama, especially this week.

As educators, I wonder what they both would have thought about teenagers shooting up elementary schools and igniting bombs in public places, hurting innocent people, killing children. My father loved Boston and rooted for both the Red Sox and Celtics. I think he would have been glued to the television yesterday and like so many of us, devastated and confused.

I didn’t know my grandparents on either side very well and I’m sorry that I didn’t ask more questions about them when I had the chance. I also should have taken the opportunity to ask more questions about my parents childhoods, what they dreamed of when they were children and if they if had any inkling that they would make a success life overseas.

I would love to talk to my dad about the book he wrote and published and hear about his writing process. Perhaps it would help me with mine.

In so many ways time has stood still since my mother and father’s deaths almost six years ago and I know I’ll be collecting discussion points for the rest of my life; things I wish we could talk about. Current events, parenting advice and family history aside, honestly I’d talk about the weather with either of them if I could.

My People

Posted on February 19, 2013 Written by Tonya

It was almost 5 1/2 years ago and many details of that day remain fuzzy.

I’ll always regret not standing up to say anything. At the time, there were no words, but still I should have thanked everyone for coming and declared my love for my parents publicly.

Sometimes I’ll hear one of the songs my sister and I so painstakingly selected as the soundtrack for that miserable event on the radio and I’ll smile a bittersweet smile.

I know I’ll never forget all the people that were in attendance. We thought maybe a dozen would show up and instead the chapel was full.

When your family and friends are with you during your worst day you tend to look at them a little differently.

Any disagreement you’ve ever had fades away.

Any time that has lapsed since your last visit doesn’t matter.

You realize how much these people love you, how much you mean to them and how far they will travel to be by your side in your darkest hour.

I was so humbled by each and every one of them. Their presence made that day a little easier.

My ex-husband.

An old boyfriend’s parents, sister, brother-in-law and their children.

My new in-laws, my father-in-law, who less than a month earlier had undergone an eight hour open heart surgery.

College friends.

High school friends.

Co-workers.

My best friends.

It was touching and sweet and I’ll never forget that outpouring of love and joint loss.

Thank God for my people.

Click photo for source.

Who You Might Have Been

Posted on January 28, 2013 Written by Tonya

It ain’t fair; you died too young, Like the story that had just begun, But death tore the pages all away. God knows how I miss you, All the hell that I’ve been through, Just knowin’ no-one could take your place. An’ sometimes I wonder, Who’d you be today? – Kenny Chesney

The image is fixed in my mind.

My parents would grow old. Crotchety and set in their ways, but always my pillars of strength.

My parents would grow old together.

They would retire and live off of their investments and savings.

They would take a cruise and travel to places they’d never been, like Australia and Hawaii. Maybe relax for a change.

They would love my son to pieces and relish being active and present grandparents.

I’d like to think they might have made a move from Arizona to Southern California to be closer to us. I can see them in a condo near the beach and my mother’s skin golden brown all year long.

There would be daily phone calls and frequent visits, long conversations about how I was as a child compared to Lucas’ latest phase. We’d talk about the far away places they’d lived, politics and books we were all reading and promise to share them when we were done.

My father might’ve bought that ship and mail business that he always talked about or maybe he would have invested in his favorite used bookstore in Tucson. Perhaps he’d consult school administrators working in small overseas schools around the world.

My mother might of continued substitute teaching never fully able to be away away from young children. Perhaps she would have volunteered at the local library or became a sales associate at a teaching store.

I wonder if she would made an effort to lose all the excess weight she carried. I’d like to think they both would have started a health kick; bought a juicer, purchased a treadmill, joined a gym and taken better care of themselves.

I’ll never know who they would’ve been or what they’d be doing now, but the image of them being here is fixed firmly in my mind.

Catalina Island, 2005

Unwavering

Posted on January 25, 2013 Written by Tonya

It’s been sitting on my nightstand for months and I now know why I waited so long to read it, I needed these words now.

I know everyone and their mother has already read Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, but I finished it today and it did something I haven’t experienced from a book in a long time. Cheryl Strayed’s words reached a place deep inside me and I let them seep into my heart and soul making a profound impact.

Wild is inspirational and reflective of the struggles we all face in life. While reading, I made many parallels to my own life; the dissolution of my first marriage, my grief over losing my parents too soon, the rocky and yet oh so wonderful days of motherhood and not taking for granted the beauty that lies all around us, if we just stop to look, but the biggest comparison I made was to my infertility journey; the highs and lows and mammoth blisters in between.

Strayed is brutally honest about her weaknesses as well as her strengths and anyone going through any sort of hardship should read this book. I promise it will give you courage to help you face the hurts and overcome your grief as well as empower you to keep going no matter what the obstacles.

I have learned so much about longing and gut-wrenching pain over the last few years and I wonder how much more I can endure. It seems as though each heart break is more debilitating than the last and yet, somehow instinctively I know when our second child is placed into my arms, however and whenever that might be, just like Strayed’s final day of her 1100 mile soul searching hike, a dark, ominous cloud will be lifted and all of my doubts, struggles losses and tears will not have been in vain.

Few people have Strayed’s courage to live their own truth and to tell that truth without wavering. I admire her immensely, I am grateful for her words and hope in some small way that I am a tiny bit like her.

Click on image for source.

Have you read Wild?

I Know You’re Proud

Posted on December 4, 2012 Written by Tonya

I never knew my grandparents very well. Either set. My last remaining grandparent died when I was in college and I had the great misfortune of having to tell my mother that her mother had passed. It was an awful task.

Are your grandparents still alive?

Busy mom of three boys, (can you even imagine?) avid workout queen and big supporter of Letters For Lucas, Tayarra of 5 Sharp Lives is my guest today with a very touching letter to her grandparents. I am envious of her memories of them.

I’m honored to be featured here. There is a small group of women that I have followed since I began blogging. Tonya is one of those women. I was caught up in her story especially around her parents. I know the love she talks about with my own parents. She has taught me never to take that for granted. Thank you, Tonya for your inspiration and allowing me here.

Grandma and Grandpa,

Awe, it hurts just writing the greeting. I miss you. And, now I’m crying.

It’s been forever it seems. There are times when I see the back of an older women’s neck that has silver hair and an admiring haircut, I think of you, Grandma. I yearn for her to turn around and match your features. It’s all I can do to not hug her or reach for her hand. It’s been over a decade since you left this earth, but I still feel such a connection with you and Grandpa.

Tionna and I were just talking about you the other day. I needed a dress for the work holiday party and she was my go to. I was trying on her shoes when I told her they reminded me of grandma. You always had the coolest shoes and I always loved the way you would dress. I remember sitting on your bed in your bedroom admiring you as you put away your laundry, “Someday I’m going to be like you.” That happens a lot; thinking and talking about you both. Sometimes I even suck the BBQ sauce off my fingertips after eating some BBQ just to smile as each sound reminds me of Grandpa. And, sometimes I will eat a Butterfinger and drink a Dr. Pepper just to take me back to those days when we would walk down to the dock surrounded by the smell of fish in the cold river where we’d turn and admire the houses at the top of that huge rock bluff. I long to perfect the holiday goodies you slaved over. No one can do it like you.

I do have a confession to make; you know when I said I wanted to be a Veterinarian? Well, that didn’t happen. I know you always said that I did whatever I said I was going to do, but that time it wasn’t true. The thought of me sticking my hand up multiple animals’ rear ends was not appealing to me and it turns out that Veterinarians take care of much more than sweet little puppies and kittens. I do still like country music, by the way.

I’m sure both of you would still be proud though. I’m sure you know that Dale and I have three boys because I’m quite certain you had a part in picking them out for us. Sweet, ornery, strong, and destructive… you would love them to pieces. They would have loved cuddling up with Grandpa as much as I did. I can almost see Waylon sitting on his lap when I picture how they would be together. And, picturing them all out on your deck swinging… I think I felt most loved in your arms in that swing.

A lot has changed. Your place is falling apart. It breaks our hearts knowing the place where we spent so much time and shared so many unforgettable moments is decaying. I’m sure none of this is actually news to you.

I guess what I really want to say is thank you. You taught us so much about life. About not giving up and following our hearts. You showed us that good things can come out of bad situations. You treated your friends like family. You taught us deep love. You showed me just how much punch can live in such a little frame. You taught me to laugh with a little bit of smart ass mixed in.

I live my life to be a strong woman. One that uses her past as a stepping stone, not an excuse. I still wish I had more of the confidence you carried, but I’m working on it. I live to be inspiring to my boys by working hard and living my best life and to others that cross my path because I never really know who’s paying attention. Both of you have and will have such a huge part in that. I know you’re smiling. I know you’re proud. Until I see you again, hold tight to that baby of mine. There are people up there, waiting on me. The run to them will be my final and most honored race.

Love you always,
Tara

Please follow Tayarra on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

It Should Come From Me

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